But that’s just it; I can either focus on what I have lost, or what I have gained, and I choose the latter.

Whether or not I protect the weeds isn’t a matter of just recognizing the weed for what it is, but possessing the conviction to grab hold of the roots and yank like my life depends...

What a funny girl, I thought, and then I realized something. To the three-year-old ye, and maybe even to the thirty year old eye, weeds and grass look very similar. Same color, same feeling, same...

There will be the IV poles, the divorce papers, the sound of dirt hitting a casket. We will have moments where we can’t catch our breath and all the world seems wrong, and we can’t...

And how long will your fingers be so tangled in the law that you can’t live out of My grace?